


Dressed To Kill

by TeamGwenee



Series: Pretty Dress Prompts [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe-Tailor, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 10:42:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15580182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: Jaime prides himself on making clothes to fit everyone, regardless of shape, income or gender. But Brienne Tarth proves a challenge in more ways than one.





	Dressed To Kill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DanyelN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyelN/gifts).



It started with Tyrion, Jaime had to admit. It all began with Tyrion and their father's shame of Jaime's little brother. His insistence he will only bring shame to the family image. It intensified when Jaime lost his hand and his father and sister could only upon him with disgust.

Even down a hand, Jaime's resolve grew and so did his business. Suits, gowns, he made them all. And he catered to everyone regardless of age, shape, gender or wealth. And although the hand loss epiphany go as far as to sugar his tongue, he never questioned an individual's right to look good. Whatever the challenge, he rose to it heroically.

That said, he was fighting hard to resist the urge to stab Brienne Tarth with a needle. Her demands had been exacting. Easy to move in. Nothing to get caught or trip her up. Has to hide her gun but still be easy to reach.

If that wasn't enough, she spent all their fittings groaning and grumbling as though his life's work was pure torture. Jaime grew determined to make her smile. Joking during fittings, giving her the odd tickle as he adjusted the fabric.

He failed in making her laugh, but seven hells the dress he made her was good! Not that you could tell from the look on Brienne's face as she regarded herself in the mirror.

“A leg slit, seriously?” Brienne raised an eyebrow.

“To help you move,” Jaime replied lightly. He did not add that considering this was likely to be the only time Agent Tarth would willingly wear the dress meant that he had to seize the opportunity to show off her long white limbs. “And to reach your gun. Also, pockets!”

Jaime moved around Brienne, smoothing out the satin of her gown. “Is there much chance of a shoot out? Maybe I should give the press coverage a go,”

“Unlikely,” Brienne said firmly, pulling and tugging at the low neckline only for Jaime to bat her hands away. “The gun is just in case,”

As honest as she was, Brienne's words proved to be false. Some days later, Jaime was stood over her hospital bed. He looked down on her broken, bandaged form, her grey skin and he swallowed.

“What's the prognosis?”

“I am afraid there is no chance of recovery. We have done everything we could but the harm is quite extensive. The damage is beyond repair,”

Jaime flopped down beside Brienne and took her hand. His hair was tussled wildly and dark circles surrounded his red rimmed eyes.

“Are you alright?” Brienne asked gently.

“It's just...” Jaime stuttered, “I was watching the news, to see my dress, and suddenly I hear that there was a confrontation and guns were involved and an agent was injured and all I could think was that's my dress in there. And I didn't know if it would just be minor tears or something worse. I had to watch the news as you were wheeled out on a gurney, wearing the dress I spent hours over. Obsessing over, making dreams and plans with. Not knowing if it was safe, or destroyed, or calling out to me-”

Brienne blinked. She was starting to suspect that Jaime was not talking about the dress. That or he had an unhealthy obsession with gowns. Either way it was worth investigating.

“It's just a dress Jaime,” Brienne said awkwardly.

“It had pockets,” Jaime wept, “There will never be another dress like it,”

“Jaime,” Brienne squeezed his hand, “Are you talking about the dress?”

“No, I'm not talking about the bloody dress,” Jaime swore, clasping Brienne's hand in his and kissing her scraped knuckles, “I was talking about you,”

Brienne forced herself up as Jaime gathered her into his arms. She buried her head into the crook of his neck and felt his hot tears melt into her hair. She didn't tell him of the fear she felt as she down the barrel of the gun, of the pain as the bullet tore her apart. She didn't tell him of the terror as she watched doctors hover over her as screams rattled in her ears.

She didn't tell him how in that moment she longed for nothing more than to be back in his shop. To hear his voice and feel his hot fingers on her bare skin as he draped her in cool satin.

She broke away and gave him a watery smile.

“It was a lovely dress,” she conceded, “But there is time to make others,”

“I will make an entire range of gowns just for you. And these ones,” Jaime vowed, “Will be bulletproof,”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let us all hang our heads out of respect for Brienne's destroyed dress.  
> It had pockets!


End file.
